


Devil Eater

by Ryumaru



Category: Devil May Cry, Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryumaru/pseuds/Ryumaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Kishin escapes, Lord Death considers a plan - if not all of the Death Scythes will come to the DWMA's aid, perhaps it's time he hired a new teacher. Someone who knows how to fight incredibly powerful demons and come out looking as stylish as ever, perhaps. After all, a half-demon Meister with the ability to convert demons into Weapons could be an incredibly valuable asset in the coming conflict....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lord Death Reaches A Decision! - The New Teacher Owns a Business?

Lord Death was not an impulsive decision-maker. Jumping to the nearest option that sounded good (at least in theory) often ended up biting someone in painful places later. Sometimes multiple times. However, of all the options he'd considered, none really were appealing. 

The Kishin's escape was a disaster, that was true, but any other course of action would also be disastrous. The catch was that not taking any action at all would be even more disastrous. 

This had been the course of the discussion with Sid for the last hour. And with only half of the expected Death Scythes coming, things were looking more and more grim by the moment. Really, this left only one other option, and it was one that was rather unappetizing. 

Lord Death set down his cup of tea after taking a long sip, pausing to brace himself. 

“There is one more thing,” he said. Sid raised an eyebrow. While he'd never say so, he clearly doubted that this was a _good_ thing. “There is someone else we could call. The son of one of my old crew.” 

“Which one? Because, as I recall...”

Lord Death waved off the concerns. “No, no, not anyone like that. You may recall the man people liked to call the Demon Knight. Or, wait, that's not right....” 

After a moment's puzzlement, he continued. “Well, no matter. His son, or rather, one of his sons, has a successful business in Capulet City, not too far from here. He's an extremely competent fighter, and has a singular talent as a Meister. I think he's just the person we can call.”

Sid, as perceptive as ever, knew there had to be a catch. So he asked. 

“Well... he does run a business.”

“Meaning...?”

“We would have to pay him.”

“Oh?”

“Quite a bit, as it turns out.”

“Oh.” 

There was a moment of silence. 

“This is coming out of my vacation pay, isn't it?”

There was another moment of silence, this time for Sid's vacation pay.


	2. A New Job for the Devil Hunter! - The Legacy of the Dark Knight Travels Here?

In his office, Dante looked over the letter again. Here he was, waiting for another job to come in, and now he got a message from some guy calling himself “Lord Death,” claiming to be an old friend of his father's, and asking for his help by taking, of all things, a teaching job. 

This guy did know what his business was about, right? He'd never considered himself a teacher of any kind, except maybe for the kinds of lessons that involved whacking demons with various sharp objects. 

Whatever. Dante looked at the opening again, where this “Lord Death” claimed to have known his father. If he'd made a list of people who claimed to have known Sparda, Dante thought, it would be longer than his arm. Then again, most of those people on the list wouldn't actually be lying, though there would be a fair number that were dead. Several others decorated his back room wall. Still, it was at least credible. Apparently Daddy Dearest had been quite the hell-raiser (har har) before he'd met Eva, and roughing up troublemakers with a gang of like-minded people probably fell under that category. 

He checked the return address. Death City wasn't exactly a familiar name to him, but then, he lived in a place named after a Shakespeare character. It might be nice to take a vacation from the place, and Lady had been hounding him about paying off that damn motorbike, which he would swear he'd paid off ten times over by this point. 

The emptiness of the office, despite the midday sun and prominent neon sign outside, underscored these thoughts with silence. There hadn't been a really decent job in a while. The last thing he'd really done anything remotely exciting with had been the business with the Order of the Sword. Idly, he wondered how the kid was doing. He had all the right stuff going for him, if he could figure out how to use it. 

He scanned the letter again. There was a promise of payment, but no actual amounts. Suspicious. He furrowed his brows slightly, wondering if what exactly that meant. It could mean he'd be paid very, very well, though it remained to be seen if it would be hush money or hazard pay. It could also mean he'd get paid half of what he usually asked for long assignments, and that was about a quarter of what he was worth.

Dante leaned back, looking at the letter but letting his eyes unfocus. Maybe he should call Trish, see what she thought. He dismissed this idea quickly, knowing she'd laugh him off. Lady probably wouldn't care. That about exhausted his pool of relatively trusted contacts, though there was that one woman, the redhead, who had tried contacting him and claiming that she'd met him some place called Dumary Island. 

Where the hell was Dumary Island? He'd never even heard of the place.

Whatever.

Well, he thought, he may as well see what the proposal would be like. He scanned the letter, looking for contact information. There was a number, but it was in the wrong order: 4242-564. No area code, either. There was, however, a note about writing on a mirror or window. 

What the hell, why not? There wasn't anyone in the shop, and if it worked he wouldn't have to spend the money on a plane ticket. He drew the blinds, flipped the sign to “Closed” - not that anyone would have walked in – and breathed on the mirror he had hanging on the office wall. Some quick squiggling later, and he was staring at a mirror with numbers on it. 

He sighed. Well, so much for that. Time to book a ticket. 

Suddenly the mirror's surface rippled, and the image it reflected changed. Rather than the somewhat dingy office, it was now a bizarre room with what looked like clouds floating across the walls. A tall black figure, with a white skull mask, suddenly leaned back. 

“Hello, hello!” it chirped. “You must be Dante! It's been quite a long time since I saw you.” 

Dante was totally nonplussed. Something about this weirdo seemed vaguely familiar....

“Ah, yes, I suspected that you might not remember me. I was one of your father's compatriots. I was at the wedding when he married Eva, and I seem to recall giving you and your brother a small gift not long after you were born... a blanket, I believe.” 

That did it. Dante knew exactly the one this oddball was referring to. “You remember it, don't you?” he asked.

Dante's response was terse. “Black, with white flowers.”

The skull mask's eyes turned upwards in a happy grin. “Oh, good! I was hoping you might.”

“So what's this job you want me for?”

“Oh, straight to business? Well, I suppose there will be time for reminiscing later. Allow me to explain....” 

 

Elsewhere, a chill suddenly ran up Soul Eater Evans' spine. He dropped the book he had been supposedly studying, and cringed. 

Maka looked up from her own homework. “What's wrong, Soul?”

“I have no idea. Feels like someone just walked over my grave.”

 

Dante rubbed the back of his neck. “That's a hell of a problem you've got.”

“Indeed. You've felt it too, haven't you? The hints of fear floating around. It won't be very bad where you're at, not yet. But it will be.”

The devil hunter had already been sensing it. He was only a half-demon, but he could tell when people were uneasy. Usually, it was because they were around him. This time, though, it was like a storm was on the horizon. “Yeah,” he concurred out loud. “So, what are you offering?”

Death named his price. It wasn't nearly enough, but it'd do. On one condition. 

“What would that condition be?”

“You pay for my ticket.”

“Already done. We've booked a flight for you tomorrow morning.” 

“Great.” Dante hated morning flights. “I'm assuming you have a place for me to stay?” 

“We have an on-campus apartment all cleared out for you.”

“You know I have special... accommodations, right?”

“We have room for you, your partner, and three of your Devil Arms.”

Only three? Well, he'd gone on missions with less equipment. And, hopefully, he'd be able to contact Trish or Lady for a delivery if things got bad. “Alright. I'll do it. Since you're a friend of Dear Old Dad.”

“I'm glad! We could really use your expertise out here. We'll have a couple of our students pick you up at the airport and the chauffeur will drive you all from there!”

 

Another chill crawled its way up Soul's spine. This time he jumped out of his seat, yelling in surprise. 

“Are you okay?” Maka looked rather concerned. 

Soul left the room, muttering something about going for a bike ride to calm his nerves. 

 

“Looking forward to seeing you in person, Dante!” The reaper waved a cheerful goodbye, and faded out of the mirror. The reflection once again showed the dusty office. 

Dante sighed and rolled his shoulders. A man had situated himself in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Got a call you had to take?”

“Yeah. Someone who used to work with Dad. Some crackpot, calls himself Lord Death.”

The ebon-haired man straightened up. “Sounds familiar.” A wicked glint appeared in his red eyes. “The Reaper himself. Heard he started a school not long after he settled down.” 

“Something like that.”

“And?”

“And he just hired us to teach there.”

The man burst out laughing. “You? Teach? I hope he didn't offer us too much for the job!” 

“He's only paying me, you know. Not a thing in the agreement about you.”

“Hah. I won't need it; I just need to watch you try and educate a room full of bratty teenagers! So tell me, are you going to be teaching math, or history? Don't tell me they got you for social studies.” 

Dante was busying himself with pulling his guns out of the drawer of his desk and cleaning them as he replied. “It's a bit of a... specialized education.”

His partner suddenly became serious. “How specialized?”

Dante's only response was the soft _click_ of Ebony's slide racking back into place. Ivory sat on the table, awaiting service. 

“Ah.” The man smiled. “Well, it is what you do best.” There was a pause. 

“You'd make your father proud, you know,” he added. 

“Yeah. Pity he's not here to see me take a real job for a change.” Dante's sarcasm had just enough vitriol that it could have cleaned the rust off of the screws in his chair. 

“Dante. You know he didn't-” 

“I know. You remind me of that every day, Rebellion, same as you have since you saved my ass back on that tower. It hurts a lot less since then, but it still hurts.”

Rebellion put his hand on Dante's shoulder. “I know, kid. But I'm here now, at least.” 

Dante holstered Ebony and Ivory. Mundane pistols though they were, they were some of his most treasured possessions, and had seen him through every mission he'd been on. “Makes you wonder, though. Why'd he lock you up like that?”

“I wish I knew.”

There was a thoughtful pause, before both men pushed thoughts of the Legendary Dark Knight out of their minds. “So,” asked Rebellion, “who are we taking?” 

“Thought you'd never ask.”


	3. The New Teacher Arrives! - Maka and Soul Get There Late?

The heat in Death City never got to be too bad – a quirk of the city's bizarre architecture led many streets to be shaded by the buildings looming above. And today, fortunately, there was a breeze. 

Unfortunately, Dante was still several miles away from this relief, as he sat on a hard bench with his suitcase and weapon case in the sweltering desert heat. 

Briefly, he wondered if Cerberus would be willing to frost the area a bit, but decided against it. For security reasons, he'd keep his Devil Arm companions hidden for now. Besides, if he was suffering, Cerberus would have it twice as bad. So he sat, and waited. 

 

Late the previous afternoon, Maka and Soul wondered why they had been called to see Lord Death. The headmaster of the school greeted them with his usual cheer, and dispelled their worries that this was for disciplinary reasons. 

“In fact,” he said, “this is a special assignment for you. Tomorrow, we have a guest arriving. I want you to go and pick him up from the airport.” 

Soul raised an eyebrow at this. “Picking up a guy from the airport? Isn't that a little....” The proper word escaped him. 

“It is unusual, yes, but in this case I would rather it was you, the students, rather than faculty. Until our other guests arrive we have very few people to spare for these things, and I think it would be best if a future teacher were greeted by students.” 

Maka's eyes widened. “A new teacher?” she repeated. 

“Yes. With the release of the kishin, I realize that we need a specialist to teach you how to fight demons. Corrupted souls and kishin eggs are all well and good, but there will be much worse ahead of you. He's something of an expert in this area.”

“So why send us?” asked Soul. 

“As opposed to...?” Both Meister and Weapon considered this. There was no way in Hell that anyone would trust Black Star to make a good first impression on a new teacher. As for Kid, well... 

A brief image flashed in their minds. If even the slightest thing was off about this teacher's symmetry....

Nope. As for their classmates, there were numerous reasons not to ask them to go. The only other person who might be suitable was Kilik, and he had other matters in town on the weekends. 

“Well, I guess that settles it then!” said Death. “Do be polite to our guest. He's the son of one of my old friends, and an extremely competent demon hunter besides. He's also got quite the successful business!”

“So no pressure,” muttered Soul. 

 

Rebellion, still strapped to Dante's back in sword form, grumbled about the heat. 

“Stop complaining,” said Dante. “You're not wearing a leather coat.”

“And you're not made of metal. You know how much more effectively I conduct heat in this state?” came the snappy retort. 

“Would you rather I put you back in the case?”

“Oh no. No, you are NOT putting me back in there. The flight was bad enough!”

“Then stop complaining.”

“You know what? When YOU get manhandled by an underpaid flight attendant who insists on ignoring every 'handle with care' warning, you can tell me to stop complaining!” 

Dante didn't respond. Instead, he looked up from the cheap airport paperback he'd been reading and looked down the road. 

Yes, there it was – a dust cloud. He thought he'd heard an engine. 

A black car, hood emblazoned with the letters “DWMA,” pulled up and parked. A pair of young teenagers, a boy and a girl, got out. Dante watched them carefully, as they half-shouted at each other, seeming not to take any notice of him. 

“It's your fault we're late you know! We should have left an hour ago, but you didn't set your alarm!” snapped the girl. Something about her reminded Dante of Lady. It might have just been the outfit. 

“How the hell was I supposed to know that it had gotten unplugged?” retorted the boy, whose white hair and sharp teeth made Dante wonder if the kid had demon blood. “And besides that, you could have bothered to check on me _before_ you finished pressing the last crease out of your skirt!”

“Sue me for wanting to make a good impression! Now come on, we have to find him.”

“Yeah, that'll be easy, what with how Lord Death gave us a name and description of the guy, and a card to hold up for him! He probably went back home when nobody was here to pick him up right away, the smug successful asshole.”

“How on Earth did you come to that conclusion?”

“Lord Death told us he was someone important, right? Son of an old friend, successful businessman, that kind of thing? He's probably so full of himself that he only took the job because they drained Sid's vacation pay, and even then it was probably out of pity.”

“We don't know that,” said the girl, but there was something in her voice that made it clear she wasn't so sure herself. She looked around, concerned at the lack of scholarly presences. “Now come on, he should be around here somewhere.” 

“Where? The only person I see is the homeless old biker over there on the bench.”

Rebellion laughed, though only Dante could really hear him. “Told you that you should have shaved this morning.”

“Hey,” argued Dante, under his breath. “Ladies love the stubble.”

“Sure they do,” said Rebellion. Dante ignored him and turned his focus back to the argument, as the girl was shouting at the boy to follow her inside to look. He pondered letting them continue fighting, but his curiosity about this new job was starting to get the better of him. Wordlessly, he stood up and cracked his neck, slipping the airport novel into his coat pocket for later. He simply had to find out what the Sigma Protocol was. Later.

The two students continued arguing as he walked up behind them, blissfully unaware that the world was ignoring who should have woken up whom and who was to blame for not knowing who they were looking for. After a moment where he wished he had brought popcorn, Dante cleared his throat. 

Both students jumped, though to their credit neither one made a noise. The girl looked at him, clearly shocked. The boy looked as though he was regretting the “homeless old biker” comment, seeing how much larger Dante was up close and in person. 

“Um,” said the girl, “can we help you?”

“Why, as a matter of fact, I believe you can,” said Dante, putting on his best impression of how he thought self-important people spoke – that is, his best impression of Vergil. “You see, I've been hired for a job here, and I was told that someone would pick me up at the airport, but I haven't seen them anywhere! Might you two know where they might be?”

Dante could practically _feel_ the boy swearing. He fought back a grin. Before either one of the two could say a word, he continued. “It really is important that I get there on time” - the boy swallowed - “and... and....” 

Unable to take it anymore, he burst out laughing at their expressions. As the laughter subsided, he smiled, trying to be reassuring. “Oh, relax. You're from the DWMA, right?”

“How did you know?” asked the girl. Dante just gestured to the hood of their car. 

“Oh.” 

“Nice to meet you. I'm Dante.”

The boy buried his face in the palm of his hand. “And we're a pair of total idiots.” 

 

The ride back was, for a while, composed entirely of awkward silences punctuated by the odd cough or throat-clearing. Eventually, Dante got fed up. 

“Alright,” he said, folding his arms. “Enough of the awkward. Geez, and I thought people had to fight to get kids to play the Quiet Game.” 

When this got no response, he continued. “Well, if you're not going to brighten up, I may as well ask some questions. First off, where the hell is this city?”

“Only about another half hour away,” answered the girl. Neither one of them had introduced themselves. 

“Fantastic. Progress. Second question: when was the last time someone tried to summon demons in the city?”

“Um,” said the girl. She looked at her companion. Both seemed to be totally clueless. From what he'd heard, they'd be the ones to know, being from the school, so he let it drop. 

“Fair enough. Last question.” He paused. “Do either of you know where a good place is to get a strawberry sundae?” 

“What.” This came from the boy. It was the first time he'd said anything since they'd gotten into the car. 

“Strawberry sundae. Ice cream? With strawberries on it?”

“Neither one of us goes out for ice cream much, Mr. Dante,” said the girl. 

“Fair enough. Guess I know what I'm doing tomorrow. Oh, and drop the 'Mister.' Seriously, just call me Dante.” 

“Er, if you say so, Mi- Dante.” The girl looked away, clearly uncomfortable with being so casual with a teacher. 

“Look, I'm not much of a teacher,” he admitted. “I just either stab or shoot demons until they stop trying to kill people. But Death thinks I'm qualified to teach you guys how to do the same. I don't think like a teacher, and I'm not going to act like one.” He paused, listening to a whispered piece of advice from Rebellion. “But,” he conceded, leaning back, “if you really have to, you can call me Professor Dante or something like that.” 

“Okay.” 

“Great. So, am I finally going to be allowed to know your names? Or do I have to tell you two something else from my deep, dark, personal history?”

This got a slight chuckle out of the girl. “I'm Maka. Maka Albarn.” Dante shook her hand, his own almost totally enveloping hers. 

The boy rolled his eyes, but he looked Dante straight in the face and said, “Call me Soul.”

“Soul?”

“His full name is Soul Eater Evans,” said Maka. Soul shot her a glare. 

“Cool,” said Dante, and this seemed to be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes, that is a reference to the DMC anime. I'm trying to use as much as I can of DMC's canon to inform the story, and Dante's personality. 
> 
> Smart readers will notice my seeming dismissal of DMC 2 in the last chapter, but all I really said that it wasn't Dante who showed up on Dumary Island. This is related to a theory a friend and I have as to what, exactly, was going on in DMC 2 and the fates of some other major characters. Don't worry, it'll be expanded upon in later chapters.


	4. Dante Settles In! - He Brought Who With Him?

The apartment was not exactly richly decorated, but it was nice enough. Dante left his selection of Devil Arms in the room, leaving the case open to let them breathe a bit. He'd warm up with them later; currently, he had a meeting with the Reaper himself. 

Dante smirked to himself as he approached what was apparently called the Death Room, according to his tour guides. In any other circumstance....

As he approached the podium in the center, Death turned to face him. “Dante! Hello hello! It's good to see you, my boy. How was the flight?”

Dante shrugged. He wasn't much of a flyer. “Not bad, I guess. Could've been worse.”

“Good, good. I'm glad you got here safely.” Death gestured to the red-haired man in a suit slouching next to him. “This is Death Scythe, one of my personal weapons and the Death Scythe responsible for the North American continent.”

“Death Scythe the Death Scythe? Kind of redundant, don't you think?” Dante smirked. 

“Hey, watch it, punk! You're talking to the Grim Reaper, you got that?” The man apparently had quite the temper. 

“Yeah, yeah. Calm down, dude. You're giving me a headache.”

“I'll give _you_ a headache you-” Before he could get much further, the fiery Weapon was smashed to the ground by a well-placed Reaper Chop. 

“That's enough, you two. I'll remind you, Spirit, that Dante is here as a guest and should be treated with respect. And as for you, Dante, I will ask you to be a bit more respectful to my faculty while you are here.” 

The Son of Sparda shrugged, but acquiesced. This was his employer, after all. “So what did you want to see me for?”

“Mostly to introduce you to my assistant here, as well as ask you a few questions. I understand that you have talents as a Meister, but I also understand that they are... unusual.”

Rebellion, still strapped to Dante's back, spoke up. “You mind if I answer this, boss?”

“Go ahead,” he responded, unslinging the blade before it transformed into the dark-haired, red-eyed man. 

“I'm Rebellion, Dante's Weapon partner. Well. One of many.”

Maka perked up at this, but remained silent. 

“You see, Dante's the son of a powerful demon, named Sparda. You already know that, Lord Death, but I don't know who else here would. Therefore, his abilities as a Meister are altered a bit from those of a normal human. While any Meister can match their soul wavelengths with those of a Weapon, they can't do anything with a demon.” Rebellion paused. “Hang on,” he said. “I skipped a step, there. Let me start over.

“When a powerful demon is beaten in battle, its soul collapses into a weapon form, known as a Devil Arm. A human warrior, even a Meister, can't do anything beyond pick up and swing a Devil Arm like a mundane weapon, but a demon or half-demon Meister can match wavelengths with a Devil Arm and communicate with the demon's soul sealed within.” 

Maka's curiosity got the better of her. “So, you're a Devil Arm yourself, then?”

Rebellion grinned. “Not quite. I'm a Weapon, same as Soul. The only difference between him and me, besides experience, is that I was sealed in my weapon form for a long time.”

“It's a long story,” interrupted Dante. “Let's not get into it.” 

Rebellion shrugged. “Sure thing. Anyway, our line of work tends to... give us access to quite a few Devil Arms without owners. So we pick them up to keep them out of the wrong hands.”

Still curious, Maka asked, “So what's the difference between a Weapon and a Devil Arm?”

“To put it simply, Weapons can stay in either form indefinitely, but a Devil Arm requires a lot of energy to take their original form again. Even then, it's usually diminished from what they used to be. If I'm right, and I usually am-” here he shot Dante a smug look “-you'll get a demonstration soon enough.” 

“While I'm glad you're curious, Maka,” interrupted Death, “I'm sure you'll learn all you need to once classes with Dante start up. Don't you and Soul have a certain exam to study for?” 

“Oh, um, yes. Thank you, Lord Death.” 

As the two left, Death wished them luck on the exam. He then turned to Dante and Rebellion. “Well, I have to give her credit: she asked most of the questions I had intended to ask myself!”

“Of course she did,” said Death Scythe. “She's my daughter and one of the smartest kids in the whole damn school!” 

Dante was about to make a smart remark about intelligence clearly not running in the family, but Rebellion, sensing it coming, stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He settled for rolling his eyes instead. 

“The only other thing I want to ask, my boy, is if you know anything about where your father is.” 

“No,” said Dante. “As far as I'm concerned, he's dead and gone.” 

“That is rather unfortunate. I'm sorry to hear it.” 

Both Dante and Rebellion remained quiet. 

“Well, I apologize for bringing it up. That was all I needed to know for now! Thank you, and I'll send one of the other teachers to your apartment later this evening to brief you on our curriculum standards and help you prepare for this coming Monday.”

“Alright, sure.” Dante made a gesture over his shoulder as he turned to leave. Rebellion wasn't far behind. Before he was gone, however, Dante paused. “Hey, quick question. You got a gym or something around here? I want to warm up, get back in shape.” 

“The DWMA has numerous training rooms. Just ask at the front desk.”

“Thanks.” 

 

That evening, Maka and Soul played host to their friends and classmates. While they had originally intended only to discuss the fate of Crona and what had happened under the school, the duo couldn't help but bring up the other bit of news. 

“Hmm,” mused Death the Kid. “I hadn't heard anything about hiring a new teacher. Father must not have wanted it to be public knowledge.” 

“But why?” asked Black Star. “It's not like hiring some guy to teach us is some big kind of secret.”

“Maybe there's more to it than that,” said Liz. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, maybe this teacher is working under the table or something, or he had to bribe the guy. Pretty sure that breaks some teachers' union rules or something.”

“No, it wouldn't be something like that,” said Kid. “We wouldn't have to do that; Father always has an adequate budget for teacher salaries and things like that.”

“Maybe he's a secret agent!” suggested Patty. “Or an assassin!”

Soul belched, having wolfed down more than his fair share of food as usual, and said, “Nah. He's a demon hunter.” 

“Pardon me?” said Liz. 

“Yeah, he's a demon hunter. Something about working back in Capulet City.”

Tsubaki spoke up. “Excuse me, did you say Capulet City?”

“Yeah, why?”

“What's this new teacher's name?”

“Hah, wait until you get a load of this guy. Goes around calling himself Dante.”

Tsubaki's eyes widened. “As in Dante, Son of Sparda?”

“Uh... I don't think anyone mentioned that part. I'm pretty sure I'd have remembered an opportunity for a _300_ joke.” 

“Why? What's the matter Tsubaki?” Black Star looked up from the last remaining scraps of food on the plate he'd been busying himself with. 

“If he is who I think he is, then I think I know why Lord Death wouldn't want everyone talking about it.” 

“Why wouldn't he?” asked Maka. “He's just another monster hunter like we are, isn't he?”

“I remember hearing stories about him. They say that more than ten years ago, he stormed a tower filled with the strongest demons Hell could muster, and single-handedly destroyed the entire tower. There was also a rumor he'd destroyed a religious cult, only last year. Members of my clan would talk about him like they'd talk about King Arthur or Miyamoto Musashi.” 

This was met with general amazement, tempered with some disbelief. There was no way that one person could have done that. Still, Maka resolved to start some research the following morning. 

 

Meanwhile, Dante had retired to his apartment. He'd laid out his selection of Devil Arms for this particular job on the table. Each one glinted in the evening light, catching a few last rays from the setting sun. 

It was kind of funny, he thought. Out of his entire arsenal, he'd picked three weapons from his first real job, the one where he'd ascended the Temen-Ni-Gru and found out the truth about his brother. After everything that had happened, he still held out a faint hope that Vergil was out there, somewhere...

Maybe it was foolish, especially remembering everything that had happened on Mallet Island, but he couldn't help but remember the first time he'd thought Vergil was dead. Falling into Hell certainly had seemed like a death sentence, but then he'd been proven wrong. 

Maybe it was prophetic, choosing these weapons. Prophetic of what, though, he had no idea. 

Cerberus glinted in crystal and frosted metal. The old dog was quiet, as usual. Cerberus never spoke too much, which was... okay. It could have been worse, certainly – he could have been as chatty as Agni and Rudra, though Lucifer was almost as bad. And he would respond if Dante really needed him to. While his Soul Perception and wavelength-reading abilities weren't much good, Dante felt that Cerberus was more than happy to be out again. 

Nevan, on the other hand, didn't need any kind of reading to know she was thrilled to be on the job again. The strings of the guitar thrummed gently, producing a low, melodic hum. The guitar hadn't been his first choice of Devil Arm, or even second, but he knew that she could provide him certain things that his other weapons couldn't, namely storms of electricity, bats, and electrified bats. As... distracting, and sometimes annoying, as she could be, her skills would likely come in handy. 

Finally, there was Artemis. Cold, aloof, and maybe just a bit sadistic, she was a real piece of work. While he had Ebony and Ivory to deal with threats at range, sometimes things called for a bit more firepower in that department. Artemis was lethal both up close and at long distances, and Dante always had to suppress a shiver when he thought about how much destruction the Devil Arm was capable of. Staying locked inside that tower for so long, stuck as a weapon, without a wielder... well, Dante wasn't a psychologist by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd be willing to bet she needed one. 

There was a knock at the door. Dante straightened up, cracked his neck, and answered it, finding a very tall man with graying hair, pallid skin, and... was that a damn screw through his head? 

“You must be Dante,” said the man. Something about the flatness of his voice gave the devil hunter a shiver down his spine. “I'm Dr. Stein. Lord Death sent me over to brief you on our educational standards here at the DWMA.” 

“Uh, yeah, um. Hi.” Dante still couldn't shake the chill he felt in the air near this guy. “You, uh, should probably come in.” 

“Thank you.” Dr. Stein stepped in, and there was a sharp crackle of sound from behind him, almost like one of Nevan's strings had snapped. Though his expression didn't change, the eerily pale man seemed to center his attention on the Devil Arms on the table, like a hungry wolf that had caught the scent of blood. 

“So,” said Dante, trying to distract him, “is there a lesson plan or something I need to follow?” 

“Oh no, not at all. You design your own lesson plan. This job is actually quite a prize for teachers, you know. Most don't have this much freedom with their curricula.” Stein seemed to be looking straight through him, staring at Cerberus. 

“I... see,” said Dante, carefully. “So why don't we sit down and you can tell me what exactly it is I'm supposed to be teaching these kids?” 

“Lord Death didn't tell you?” 

“Nah, he just offered to pay me if I taught. Something about me being a specialist.” Dante tried to drop onto the couch as casually as he could. 

“I see. Well, it's very simple, actually. The other professors and I will take care of the theory and lectures. You're going to be teaching these children how to fight more effectively. Especially against demons. I suppose it's more like being a gym coach than a regular teacher.” 

Dante suppressed a shiver. _This_ guy was in a classroom with kids? _Daily?_ There had to be a law against having morticians teach anyone who wasn't supposed to join a CSI unit. “I... think I can do something like that, yeah.” 

“Don't worry too much about it. Just make sure you don't kill anyone by accident and you should do just fine.” The silver-haired man hoped that the doctor wasn't being serious. “Oh, how rude of me,” he said, reaching into one of his pockets. “Do you mind if I smoke?” 

“Huh? Oh, uh, no. Not gonna bother me,” he replied. It was true; his half-demon lungs seemed to filter out carcinogens and tar like they weren't any worse than barbeque smoke. He'd tried to get into the habit as a kid, to make himself seem tougher, but it hadn't stuck. 

“Thank you.” Dr. Stein flicked a cigarette out of the crumpled pack with an expert hand, and lit the tip with a spark jumping between his fingers. Upon seeing Dante raise an eyebrow, he explained. “Just a little trick I learned when practicing soul wavelength manipulation. It keeps me from having to carry matches or a lighter, which can be quite the liability in a laboratory.” 

“Huh. Well, I guess if it works....”

“Oh yes. It's one of my specialties. My soul is rather unique, you see. Most people don't have the ability to match their wavelength with more than one Weapon, let alone any they pick up. I suppose you and I are similar in that respect.” Stein's expression didn't change, but the light glinting off of his glasses suddenly made him seem all the more sinister. 

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“I can see your soul, Dante, Son of Sparda,” said Dr. Stein, simply. “It's quite fascinating. I've never met a half-demon before.” Dante felt the temperature in the room drop further. “I must admit I'm quite curious.” 

The devil hunter stayed quiet. He wasn't going to ask. 

“I will also admit to being very intrigued by your Devil Arms, there. I wonder if my ability to match wavelengths would work just as well with them?”

“Ah... hey, now that I think about it,” said Dante, scrambling for some change of topic, “what exactly should I be teaching these kids? I mean, it's not like I know what they're capable of or who's taught them what or anything like that.” 

“If you want to find out, why not test them yourself?” asked Dr. Stein, whose eyes were still piercing through Dante to watch the table behind him. “It could make for a good first day. You never know.” 

“Uh. Right....” 

“Oh dear.” Dr. Stein checked his watch. “I seem to be running late. I left an experiment running in the lab and I can't leave it alone for too much longer. I apologize for having to leave so abruptly.”

Dante did his level best to conceal his relief. Thankfully, several months of poker with Lady (along with several embarrassing losses) had taught him how to make himself harder to read. “Hey, don't worry about it. You seem like a... busy man.” 

“I should go, then. Take care, Dante. I look forward to seeing how you teach.” As the uncanny doctor left the apartment, Dante could feel himself breathe easy again. The temperature in the room returned to normal, as well. 

There was another knock at the door. Dante braced himself for an encore performance, but it was only Rebellion, returning with groceries. 

“Oh thank God,” he muttered. “I was afraid it was that creepy doctor guy again.” 

“Creepy doctor guy?” Rebellion began putting the groceries – mostly frozen pizza and burritos – away. “Was that who I passed on the stairs?” 

“If he looked like a reanimated corpse and had a screw in his head, then yeah.” 

“Huh. I thought I felt someone watching me....” 

“Please don't say things like that.” 

“What's got you so spooked, big guy?” Rebellion smirked at him over a crate of soda. “I thought devil hunters like you weren't afraid of anything.” 

“That guy... he just gives me the creeps, that's all.” He stood up. “I should, uh... I should take these guys out for a spin.” He gestured at the table. 

“Hm? Oh, yeah, go ahead. I've got a couple phone calls I want to make. Don't stay out too late, though. We're making an actual lesson plan tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure. Later.” Dante grabbed the Devil Arms and nearly bolted out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you get down to it, Dr. Stein is kind of a creepy bastard. I'm specifically thinking of his English voice work here, provided by Chuck Huber, which is delightfully creepy and dead-on for the character, but I think anyone who met this guy on the street would probably back away slowly, then run away screaming. 
> 
> Plus, c'mon, if there's anything that really would get under Dante's skin, it's someone who can see right through him. Almost literally.


	5. A Late-Night Weapon Demonstration! - What Happens With Their Resonance?

Focus. Deep breath in, let it out slowly. Picture a blue circle, expanding as you breathe in and shrinking to a small point when you breathe out.

That's it. 

It was an old routine, but it worked. Another memento from Vergil, something left over from when they had been sparring together but it had gotten too intense. Mom had taught it to him, and then he had taught it to Dante. 

He'd found an old abandoned lot to practice in. It wasn't perfect, but he'd take it. Anything to clear his head after the run-in with that creepy doctor. 

Ugh. It still gave him the creeps, just thinking about his dead, flat voice. The only time that had changed had been when he'd been looking at – no, not at, _through_ – Dante. 

Focus. Deep breath in, let it out slowly. Blue circle. 

Okay. 

He'd strapped all three of the Devil Arms to him: Cerberus at his side, Nevan across his back, and Artemis over his forearm. It was a slightly heavier load than what he was used to, but he'd work around it. He opened his eyes and reached out to Cerberus with his soul. 

The Ice Guardian responded almost immediately, leaping into his hand eagerly. One section of the icy staff lashed through the air, and Dante caught it in his off hand, whirling the other two fast enough to whip-cut a clump of scraggly grass. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn Cerberus was howling with the wind as he swung the weapon in faster, more complicated arcs. 

Strength in battle, that was what Cerberus liked. And he was fast, much faster than a titanic three-headed dog should have been. Music was playing in the back of Dante's head now, just like it always did, and he synced the waves of his own soul to the grinding beat. Cerberus felt it, and settled into the same rhythm. Moving as one, Meister and Devil Arm began spinning, whirling, causing flakes of frost to scatter all over the lot. 

Dante kicked off the ground, rolling over and over in the air, leading the motion with Cerberus. As the weapon slammed into the ground, ice crystals speared up from the point of impact, shattering a split second later. 

 

Soul had been sleeping. He wasn't a morning person, not by any stretch of the definition or his imagination, but Maka liked getting him up early, so he tolerated early nights. 

Maka. That was the problem, of course. 

If someone had asked Soul what he had been doing, he'd have said sleeping. It would have been a lie. He had been tossing and turning, trying to get her voice out of his head. Compliments and praise from weeks ago still sat there, fresh as the moment he'd heard them. 

He hated nights like this. 

She was his partner, dammit, his Meister. That meant certain things. And it also meant certain things had to be avoided. And even if people got away with breaking the rules all the time, well, look at how Maka's parents had turned out. 

Like hell he was going to do that to her, even if she'd be willing to try in the first place. 

Telling himself that was supposed to help, but it didn't. All it did was make the thoughts come back with a vengeance, and bring along their friends, the fantasies. 

Oh, God, the fantasies. 

There were times when he couldn't stop himself from thinking about it. He was amazed Maka couldn't feel it through their resonance. There had been times he'd been afraid to transform and let her wield him because of an intense dream the night before. Somehow, he'd thought she would find out. She never did, or maybe she did and didn't say anything. 

There was a whistling noise outside, but he didn't take much notice of it. 

Tonight it was particularly bad. In his head, he saw her, gazing intently at him with those wonderful green eyes. She was close, so close, and he wanted her to pull him in so badly it _ached_. Even when he opened his eyes and scrubbed at them with his hand, wiping away any traces of sleep, he could still see the expression on her face, dream-like and _wanting_. 

He rolled over and swore into the pillow. Not that it helped. 

There was a crackle from somewhere outside his window, but he ignored it. 

Dammit, dammit, damn it all! There was no way he was getting to sleep. Not when he would close his eyes and see Maka, Maka with her arms around him, Maka guiding his hands to her shoulders, Maka bringing her lips close to his, Maka lying back and gently pushing his face down- 

In a burst of frustration, Soul bolted upright and hurled his pillow at the window. He was glad Blair was staying somewhere else tonight. Damn cat could probably read his mind for things like that. Grumbling more profanities to himself, Soul got out of bed and went to pick up his pillow. 

That was when he heard the whip-crack of something slicing through thin air. Suddenly alert, thinking there might be some kind of attack, he scanned outside the window. Nothing in the street, but- 

Was that the new teacher?

 

Dante flicked Cerberus from hand to hand, feeling himself grinning. He could hear the hound's voice, urging him to move faster in between exulting howls. With a flourish, he spun the weapon above his head, forming a blizzard around him. The icy winds slashed through the lot, and he kept going, feeling the adrenaline in his own body surge as Cerberus' soul began resonating with his own. 

Wordlessly signaling to Cerberus that he was just about done, he kicked up and brought the weapon to spin low, sending frost and bitingly cold wind out through the clearing. 

 

Soul couldn't believe his eyes. He'd never seen someone fight like that, even the most experienced teachers. And this was just practicing alone, never mind actual combat moves! He watched the miniature ice storm form, wondering what exactly the new teacher was doing to get such a cool effect out of his weapon. He wished he had Maka's talent for Soul Perception, but he let the thought go as he watched the silver-haired man pull the bizarre guitar off of his back. 

 

Dante holstered Cerberus, almost as quickly as he had drawn him, and reached for Nevan. “Sorry,” he mentally whispered to her, “but we need to keep it low tonight.” She responded with a shrug, followed by a surge of wordless _thrill_ as his hand closed around the guitar neck. 

Like the lightning that danced along her strings, Dante drew the guitar and began to play. Muted as it was, he could still feel the power flow through his fingers as they picked up the melody inside his head. Nevan smiled to him, and she sang a cloud of bats into existence, letting them scatter to the sky. 

Whirling the guitar over his head like a master musician, Dante spun and kicked, blasting a rotting stump with a bolt of lightning. The stump exploded, and he struck a brief chord, calling up a shield of the flying shadows. The bits of old wood couldn't really hurt him, but it didn't hurt to stay in practice and put on a show at the same time. 

 

Soul's jaw dropped. He'd had no idea that this guy could be so... so... 

 

Dante dropped into a classic powerslide, strumming hard and then abandoning the lower strings to launch into a blistering solo. If Nevan had been at full volume, the noise would have been capable of waking up the whole neighborhood, then sending them into a rock frenzy. Bats flew in every direction, except directly upwards, and that was because there was purple lightning shooting off into the sky. 

 

“So... cool...” Soul said to himself, not even realizing he'd said it out loud until a noise behind him made him jump. 

“Soul?” asked Maka, who had opened the door. “Is everything okay? I thought I heard you throw something.” 

“Forget about me,” he exclaimed, “you need to see this!” He gestured wildly out the window. 

 

Standing up, Dante slid his fingers down the neck of the guitar, feeling Nevan muffle a shout. At the head of the guitar, a blade snapped out, and he spun, letting Nevan's own energy carry her around him in a deadly arc. 

Catching her by the neck, Dante planted his feet and turned, sending the guitar-scythe slashing clean through an old, long-dead tree. As he brought the guitar back to a rest, the dead wood slid slowly down, then crashed to the ground.

 

Both Maka's and Soul's jaws hit the floor. They stared out the window, neither one daring to believe what they were witnessing. However they had felt about Dante earlier, now they could see that he was on an entirely different level from the two of them. 

 

The devil hunter returned the guitar to his back, feeling her reluctance and promising to come back to her later. As amazing a Devil Arm as she was, she was completely un-subtle, even for Dante. 

Now, however, came Artemis. She had been shaking, silent, all night, ever since Dr. Creep Factor had walked in, and now she almost shrieked with pent-up tension as he brought his arm up and sighted along her sleek lines. He could feel the energy building in her, and he opened himself up to it, making himself a conduit for her... 

Uh-oh, he thought, as he realized he had almost completely misread her. What he had believed to be fear or anxiety was, in fact, pure rage. 

The bolt ripped free from the Devil Arm, vaporizing the unfortunate weed he had been aiming at. Dante snapped his arm down, pointing Artemis towards the ground, as he could hear her screaming at him. What he heard was not encouraging. 

“Get him away, _get him away!_ I'll kill him! Kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him KILL HIM!” 

“Take it easy,” he said through gritted teeth. “Just calm down!” Realizing he didn't have a better option, he swing her skyward, charging a storm of brilliant, fuchsia energy. 

“SO HELP ME I WILL KILL HIM” Artemis screamed, thankfully leaving it only for Dante to hear, as he pulled the trigger and vented the roiling mass of energy upwards. Dozens of burning needles rained from the sky, blazing back down to earth. 

Dante lowered his arm, but Artemis still raged. Gently, he placed his free hand on one of her plates, trying to decouple his soul from hers. “Take it easy, there,” he said to her. “You and me are gonna talk about this, okay? Just breathe.” 

Slowly, Artemis' fury seemed to subside. Dante smiled. “There we go. Let's get home, okay?” There was a wordless agreement from his weapon. Still trying to steady himself completely, Dante began walking home. 

 

The audience of two from their apartment window stood in stunned silence for several minutes. It was Soul who broke the silence. 

“Holy CRAP!” he suddenly shouted. “Did you... did you _see_ that? That was amazing!” 

Maka nodded mutely. As her brain caught up to what her eyes had been seeing, something was bothering her....

“I mean, I've seen some pretty badass stuff before, but nothing on that kind of level!” Soul was practically hopping around the room in excitement. “The way he just switched weapons on the fly like that – is that even possible?”

Maka didn't respond. What had she seen at the end there? He had been resonating with the Devil Arm he'd been wearing like a gauntlet just fine, up until... 

“Is this just something Devil Arms can do? Because if not, sign me the hell-” 

“Soul,” said Maka quietly. “Did you see anything funny happen there? At the end?” 

The hyped-up boy stopped dead in his tracks. “Huh?” 

“I think something went wrong.” 

“Maka, what are you talking about?”

“At the very end, when he used the one on his arm. I could be wrong but... I think he resonated wrong with it.” 

“You think that's why he stopped so soon?” 

“Maybe.” She stared into space, thinking. “Do you think we should ask him about it?” 

“Oh, yeah, because that wouldn't sound weird at all. 'Hey, we were watching you from our window when you went crazy across the street from our building and we thought-'” 

“Alright, I see your point.” Unconsciously, Maka sat down on the nearest object, which happened to be Soul's bed. “I just don't know what happened....” 

“Maybe we should ask Professor Stein about it next time we see him.” 

“Huh. Yeah, maybe.” 

There was a moment of silence. 

“Uh, Maka?”

“Yeah, Soul?”

“You do realize you're on _my_ bed, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Artemis does NOT like Stein. At all. He's still kind of a creepy bastard, by the way.
> 
> The tricky thing with writing Artemis is that I don't have anything to base her personality off of, aside from the fact that you have to pass three trials to unlock her. I mean, even Artemis being female is something I had to make up for this, given that she's not actually a demon (or was never visibly so) in DMC3. 
> 
> Normally you'd think this gives me a lot of leeway, but I have to tread carefully, especially when the first impression is as... volatile as this one. Cerberus and Nevan have solid, easily-defined characters and moments I can refer back to in their game of origin, but all I have with Artemis is a moveset and the fact that she's in the Temen-Ni-Gru. If I'm not careful, I can make my character writing look sloppy or inconsistent, or have her be a one-note character. 
> 
> On another note, I rather enjoyed writing Soul's section of this chapter. He's fun to write for, because he's so expressive under the passive "cool guy" mask. I think this is part of why he works so well with Maka, who is pretty passionate pretty much all the time. 
> 
> Poor guy. As if being a deadly weapon that has to fight a world-threatening demon monster isn't hard enough, he has to deal with a damn crush.


	6. Talking Things Over! - What Does This Mean for Crona?

“Alright,” said Dante, sitting himself down on the creaking bed in his temporary apartment. “I said we'd talk about this, so let's talk.” 

He held out the arm that Artemis was still strapped to. Tentatively, he reached his soul out towards hers, hoping to give her a little extra energy to transform. While the Devil Arm seemed to hold back at first, she reluctantly accepted the connection. Within moments, white light had filled the room and dissipated, leaving a short, stocky young woman with noble Greek features, a pair of short, petite horns, and silver-plated, armor-like clothing standing opposite the demon hunter. Her fuchsia eyes were downcast.

Dante spoke first. “How are you feeling?” he asked. 

Artemis replied through gritted teeth. “Furious.” She paused, as though trying to convince herself of the truth. “Afraid,” she admitted. 

The demon hunter shifted aside and patted the bed, inviting her to sit down next to him. “Doc Creep Show?”

The Devil Arm nodded in reply, not moving from where she stood. 

“Yeah, I get that. Guy looked less like he was trying to talk to me and more like he wanted to cut me open and see what color my blood was.” He shuddered, remembering the dead stare through the smudged glasses. Something was seriously _off_ about that man. 

Artemis remained silent, defiantly clutching one arm with the other, like it was her anchor to reality. 

“You can sit down, you know.”

Still nothing. 

Dante sighed. “Come on, Artemis. We've been working together for how long? Do you still not trust me?” 

Looking at the floor, Artemis replied in a very small voice. “No.” 

Well. That answered a few questions. 

“Why not?”

“I... don't know.” There realistically could have been any number of reasons for that, and maybe she was keeping whichever one it was to herself. And he could live with that. He didn't like to pry. But it still concerned him, not least because of what had happened only moments ago. 

“Well,” Dante began, “I'm not too worried about the reasons. I'm not a touchy-feely person. You know that. I do need to know if you'll be okay enough to work with me here. If you're not feeling up to it, then it's not just about you.” Here he pointed quite decisively at her, then similarly decisively back at himself. “It's my hide that's at risk too. And what about the kids we're supposed to be teaching?”

Artemis stayed silent, seeming... almost hurt by what Dante had said. She gulped. “I understand.” 

Dante frowned. Emotions were not his area of expertise, dammit. Even so, he could tell something was still bothering her. Hell if he was going to be able to get it figured out now, though. Maybe Trish could talk to her. Or Lady. Hell, even the Wonder Kid himself might be able to get something out of her, if he could be bothered to pick up his phone.

He sighed. “Just... try to relax, okay? You definitely don't seem happy. Rest might help.” 

“... yes. Rest might help,” she echoed, not completely convinced. 

Dante stood up. He laid a hand on her shoulder, gently, so as not to startle her. “Hey. I'll ask around. See if there's anyone you might want to talk to. Maybe there's someone here who gets this better than I do.” 

Artemis looked up at him, and saw the honest concern in his face, despite how he tried to hide it under his confusion. She gave him the best smile she could in the circumstances, which was a half-smile at best, and said, “Thank you.” 

“Alright. Let's both get some sleep. It's too damn late and I need to start figuring out what to teach people tomorrow.” 

With a quick nod and a brief flash, Artemis returned to her weapon form. Dante caught her and set her on the table almost reverently, lighting a candle to leave nearby. It seemed appropriate. Leaving Rebellion watching late-night television in the living room, he kicked off his boots, pulled off his gloves, hung up his coat, and rolled over onto the bed. He had too much thinking to do before he really got to sleep. He didn't look forward to it. 

 

The following day, Maka and Soul decided to visit Crona. They talked at length about the exam they'd just finished earlier that afternoon, and how utterly ridiculously Kid had acted under pressure. Crona had expressed hope that perhaps he'd be allowed to re-take the exam, perhaps with his name readily printed on the exam sheet to spare him the trouble. 

Then the subject of the new teacher had come up. Ragnarok, usually always ready with a nasty and/or selfish comment, was unusually quiet upon hearing about this demon-slaying would-be professor. 

“I've only seen him fight a little bit, but holy _crap_ is he a badass!” Soul ranted. If Maka didn't know better, she'd have said that he was almost gushing. “He does some kind of... of _thing_ where he switches his resonance with his weapons like it's nothing and-” 

Maka let her partner blather on. The enthusiasm was almost endearing, but she was much more concerned about Crona. She genuinely did care about them as a friend, but she was worried that the DWMA would consider them too much of a threat and... 

… she didn't want to think about it.

Crona, at least, seemed to be mildly less intimidated by their presence now. Soul's raw intensity took getting used to, and Maka would be the first to admit it. The fact that he acted like some kind of tough guy who didn't take crap from anybody didn't help. But he really was a sweet guy under all of his bluster. 

When they left, after promising to tell Crona more about this strange new teacher and bring some more sweets when they visited again, both Maka and Soul had the distinct feeling that there was a storm on the horizon. 

Maka really, _really_ hoped that Crona would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one this time, just for a bit of an interlude. I wasn't quite sure what to do with Artemis just yet, and I think it shows. Still, I think I made a good start on her personality and I think her non-Weapon form seems good enough. Maybe I might have come up with something a little more outlandish if I'd thought about it longer, but on the other hand, "outlandish" doesn't seem quite right for Artemis. 
> 
> I do so like Crona. Unfortunately I can't do much with the adorable little enby just yet, due to the fact that the DWMA hasn't released them at this point, but hopefully I'll be able to do some really fun stuff later on. 
> 
> As a side note, I do plan on getting Nero involved with the plot in some capacity sooner or later, as some of you may have guessed. That's something I'm looking forward to. Nero actually grew on me really quickly as I played DMC 4, and I think it's because he's such a contrast to Dante. He's so emotionally open and very expressive, which Dante is... not. It makes for a great contrast and really drives home their respective characterizations. 
> 
> Besides, who doesn't want to see what happens when he and Soul butt heads?


	7. The First Day of Class! - What Exactly is the Lesson Plan?

The weekend passed quickly. Dante, seeking a better training ground than some old lot, had little trouble finding a gym at the school that was empty for most of the day. There was no sign of Dr. Stein at all over the weekend, which was fortunate, and less of the other teachers, which wasn't quite so fortunate. He'd have liked to know if they were all going to be as goddamn creepy as the walking corpse. 

It was ironic, then, that he would meet an actual walking corpse on his first day of teaching. 

Dante, with Rebellion strapped to his back and Ebony and Ivory holstered in their usual spots, had been paging through the class rosters. His first class of the day was supposed to be Class Crescent Moon, which mostly consisted, apparently, of students who had experience beyond the levels of their similarly-aged peers. He noticed that the two who had greeted him were on the list. Some other names, complete with school-quality photos accompanying them, jumped out at him. The kid with the blue hair, who was apparently and unironically named Black Star, looked like trouble. Someone had thoughtfully left him a note saying that he had a high opinion of himself, which would potentially be a good way to motivate him. His partner looked significantly older than he was, but nobody had left notes on her. 

Then there was someone Dante had nicknamed Kid Stares-A-Lot, simply because of the steady, calculating gaze he was giving the camera. His name was, to Dante's incredulity, Death the Kid (“Where the hell do they come up with these names?” he asked himself), and he was apparently the son of his employer, enrolled by his own request. 

Dante looked at the pictures of his Weapon partners. Huh. Partners, plural. Unusual. Not that he was one to talk. The two of them looked like regular troublemakers, however, and he wondered what he had to expect from them. 

Other names seemed worth watching, like Kilik Lunge and Jacqueline Dupré. Dante made mental notes to look at them carefully today, and then he found himself wondering just how many students he'd have to worry about. He asked himself how normal teachers managed, and resolved to get a damn notebook. 

Well, that was it. Time to get ready to actually... well, teach. For however much of a given value of “teach” he could muster. 

He stretched as the kids filtered into the gym, most of them shifting nervously. He heard raucous laughter coming from down the hall as the blue-haired kid – Black Star, he reminded himself – actually jumped headfirst through the door, before doing some impressive acrobatics to find the highest point he could stand on and laugh some more. 

“All right!” he shouted, and Dante wiggled a finger in his ear to make sure he was hearing the kid's scratchy, high-pitched voice correctly. “Now this new teacher will see just what kind of brilliance and strength he gets to teach! After all, I'm the one who's going to surpass God!” 

Dante simply stared, deadpan, unsure of how to react to this display. Several of the students seemed to be burying their faces in their palms, while others just ignored him and talked amongst themselves. 

“You can just ignore him,” said a voice behind the demon hunter. He turned and nearly jumped when he saw that the speaker was, for lack of a better term, a zombie. 

“Ah,” he said, trying to find something to say. “And you are...?”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said the zombie. “I'm Sid. I'm the usual teacher for these kids. If you don't mind, I'd like to observe what you do this class period. You see, normally I have this as my planning period, but I've already planned ahead for the next few lessons and I was curious about what kind of teacher you'd be.” 

“I, uh, I see,” replied Dante, still utterly mystified as to why a zombie was teaching at this school. 

“Well,” Sid added, “I have to confess I also wanted to know if it was worth Lord Death hiring you. I apologize if that's rather blunt of me, but I was never a man to tell a lie.” 

“I'm sure,” said Dante as diplomatically as he could. Mentally shaking himself, he turned back to the class standing in the gym. “All right!” he shouted, trying to get their attention. Every pair of eyes, even the one situated near the rafters, turned to him. “So! Good to see you're all here. At least I assume you all are.” He reprimanded himself. This wasn't part of the script he'd practiced in his head. “My name is Dante, so that's just what you can call me. If you feel like being more formal, Professor Dante works. Other than that, I don't really care. So, Day One.” He gestured dramatically at the sparring mats he'd had set up the night before. “I don't know exactly what you kids are capable of. All I know is that I'm supposed to help you figure out how to fight stuff that is literally straight out of Hell. Since I really don't know how to do that just yet -” some of the students stifled laughter at this “- I'm going to sit back and watch while you all show me what you can do.” 

Maka raised her hand. Dante just pointed at her, signaling that she could speak. “Do you mean we're doing demonstrations, Professor Dante?” 

Dante smirked. “Nope!” The smirk grew even wider, and smirkier, as students shifted nervously. “You're going to be sparring. You can see the mats. I assume you all know how it works.” 

Rebellion had helped him design this lesson plan. While he couldn't judge their combat abilities until they were in actual pitched combat, he'd be able to get a vague idea of what they could do this way. And he wouldn't even have to lift a finger. 

“Well?” he asked, shrugging. “Pick someone in the room and challenge them. I want to see what you kids can do.” He clapped and bowed dramatically. 

The students all looked at each other. Well, it was a bit unusual, but... he was the teacher.

Kilik took the initiative. “Hey Ox,” he said, with a challenging grin on his face. “Remember how I said we had a score to settle over that study group session?”

Ox Ford gulped. Somehow, he knew what was coming. “Yes...?”

Pot of Fire and Pot of Thunder transformed and fit themselves neatly over Kilik's fists. “Let's settle it.”

The ensuing “sparring” match consisted of a lot of yelling, as the other students busied themselves finding opponents while ducking under stray attacks. Dante wished he had brought a notebook. Or a camera. There was a lot of desperate screaming from the duo who had begun the lesson – namely Ox – but under the panic, Dante could see the basis of his fighting style. He tried to be precise, measured, calculating his moves and planning as far ahead as he could. 

Unfortunately, he'd effectively been ambushed, which threw most of his ability to strategize out the window. He had to go on the defensive, which wasn't easy against Kilik's onslaught of powerful strikes. Dante watched all of this as much as he could, but with other battles breaking out, it was hard to keep track of it all. 

As he watched the students spar, he took a quick headcount. Yes, yes, one, another pair.... 

Something was wrong. One of the students was miss-

“Hey!”

Dante looked up. Black Star was still in the rafters. 

“You said we could pick our sparring partner, right?”

“Yeah, that's right.” The demon hunter wondered if this kid hadn't been paying attention. Then again, it had probably been hard to hear all the way up there. 

“Good.” Black Star jumped down and landed, catlike, in front of the new teacher. “Because the person in this room that I want to fight....” He pointed dramatically at Dante. “Is you.”

Dante smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's also a bit short, but I wanted to have the upcoming action sequence be the first thing that the next chapter covers. 
> 
> Side note: God dammit, Black Star. 
> 
> I'll be honest here, I'm kind of struggling to accurately write for Kilik and Ox. They never made much of an impression on me (though that's partly my own fault, for not following the anime as closely as I could have), so I have to go with what little I have.


	8. Black Star Challenges the Teacher! - A Big Wave Goes Off-Course?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God dammit, Black Star.

All fighting in the room had stopped. Everyone was staring at Black Star. 

“Did... did he just say he's going to fight the teacher?” Maka muttered under her breath. 

“Well, it is Black Star. Intelligence isn't exactly his strong suit,” Soul replied. 

Death the Kid leaned back and let Liz and Patty revert to human form. 

“I knew Black Star was headstrong, but I didn't think he'd be this stupid,” said Liz, stretching. 

“At least it might be entertaining to watch,” said Kid thoughtfully. He had been wondering just what kind of person his father had hired, and now was a good chance to find out. 

Dante kept smirking. Oh. This was going to be fun. 

“What's the matter?” asked Black Star. “Afraid of a big man like me?” 

“If you're a big man, then I'd hate to see what you'd call giant.” 

“Hah! There's no one bigger than me.” 

“Alright then,” said Dante. He swept his coat back, letting it flare dramatically as he crouched low and beckoned his challenger forward. “Let's see what you've got.” 

Rebellion twitched on his back. “Are you sure about this?”

“Don't worry,” Dante whispered. “I won't hurt him.” 

Black Star charged, leaping through the air as he shouted for Tsubaki to change form. Obediently, she glowed and transformed into her ninja sword mode. He led his attack point-first, aiming directly at Dante's throat as he screamed a wordless battle cry. For his part, the devil hunter never stopped smirking. 

He continued smirking as he didn't move, seemingly unconcerned about the razor-sharp blade coming his way. 

Black Star was, naturally, confused when he came to a sudden stop. Dante's expression hadn't moved an inch. 

His fingers, on the other hand, had. 

Tsubaki's blade vibrated gently, kept away from Dante's throat by two fingers, thrust upwards in a last-second block. Before Black Star could even hit the ground, Dante casually reached out with his other hand, grabbed the boy's extended collar, and flipped him to the mat. 

The assembled students blinked. Black Star flipped himself upright, carrying himself using the momentum from the throw. Tsubaki glinted in the florescent lights and her wielder was off again like lightning, charging at the man he had challenged. Dante merely backed off a step or two, beckoning his challenger foward with both arms. “Alright, baby,” he said, “show me what you got!”

This time, Black Star leapt high, bringing himself down like a blue-haired meteor onto where Dante's head should have been. The devil hunter whirled, leading with the edge of his crimson coat and ducking so that while he flipped out of the way of the incoming blade, the coat flipped into his attacker's face. The assassin-in-training experienced a brief moment of confusion, wondering why the lights had gone out, before he felt an inexorable grip clamp itself around his ankle. Before he could think, Black Star was spinning across the gym. 

Muscle memory took over as he tumbled end over end, and he managed to right himself in time to land feet-first against the wall. Not one to waste an opportunity, particularly if it came with the chance to show off, he rebounded like a superball, shouting a command to Tsubaki at the same time. 

In a puff of smoke, the ninja-to became a shuriken larger than Black Star's head – which is to say, very large indeed. Meister and Weapon became a unified blur of motion, and suddenly there were three enormous blades flying towards Dante, all coming from different angles. 

“Black Star's getting creative,” muttered Maka. “I've never seen him use his Shadow Star technique like that.” 

With a slight shift forward, Dante met the flying shuriken head-on. Or, rather, he met them fingers-on. Once again, he raised two fingers on each hand and stopped two of the spinning blades in their tracks. Both burst, becoming clouds of thick, pale smoke. The third arched overhead, its trajectory curving down in a deadly arc. 

Black Star appeared as if from thin air, swinging his Weapon with all the force he could muster, screaming at the top of his lungs. 

The devil hunter looked up as the two shuriken he'd blocked vanished in puffs of smoke. A moment's calculation, and he proceeded to not care one bit about the impending doom. Instead, he shrugged. 

With a sudden clash, everything in the room stopped. Another single, perfect block had totally halted Black Star and Tsubaki's momentum. They froze in midair, suspended by Dante's outstretched fingers. 

“This has been real fun, kid,” he said, “but now I think it's time we let someone else have the stage.” 

There was another blur of motion. An observer who had blinked would have completely missed the brilliant orange glow that seemed to leave a trail in the air as Dante, for all intents and purposes, vanished from where he was standing and reappeared above his opponents, striking a pose in the air, all in the space of less than half a second. 

Black Star flew across the room and landed, face-first, on one of the sparring mats. Tsubaki, having reverted to her short sword form, clattered to the ground next to him. 

Dante landed and bowed theatrically. “Not bad, kid. You've got a long way to go, but that's not a bad start.” 

Tsubaki returned to human form, looking very dazed. Shaking her head to clear it, she tended to Black Star, who was similarly dazed, but ultimately no worse for the wear. The rest of the students stood stunned. Half of them had actually blinked, missing the finish in its entirety. The other half didn't believe what they had almost not seen. 

Dante turned back to the class. “Well, now that we've got that taken care of, I think we still have some time left, so-”

“Hey!” Black Star had recovered remarkably quickly. Dante looked over his shoulder. 

The would-be assassin's flat palm met Dante's back with a solid _thud_ , staying there only a second before Black Star turned on his heel and put every ounce of energy he had into slamming his soul into Dante's. 

A blast of yellow light and electricity engulfed the two, prompting everyone else in the room to shield their eyes. 

When the metaphorical dust settled and the literal light had cleared, the students saw that Dante was still standing. Black Star hadn't moved. 

With bated breath, everyone watched as Dante staggered forward, coughed... and straightened up. 

“Huh,” he said, rolling his neck. “That's a neat trick. Actually stung. Well, if that's everything....” He turned to look at Black Star. 

The boy still hadn't moved. Maka, for a moment, wondered if she had seen everything correctly. Black Star's Big Wave attack was not exactly something to sneeze at, even if Dr. Stein had simply absorbed it with as little difficulty as Dante apparently had. But that was a special case. Mentally, she re-watched the scene as she had witnessed it. 

Black Star had landed the attack perfectly. That much was clear. But something had happened when his soul wavelength had collided with the devil hunter's. Rather than the usual result of disrupting the other wavelength, Black Star's had rebounded, as though they had hit a steel wall. 

“Hey, kid, you okay?” The older man poked Black Star gently. The boy collapsed, caught at the last second as Dante's reflexes took over. 

The sound that Black Star made was something between a gurgle and a sigh, and in any other context would likely have been hilarious. Tsubaki, however, just looked worried. 

“I'm pretty sure he's okay,” said Dante. “Just drained, is all. When he's able to have a conversation, ask him to talk to me about that, would you? Seems like something useful he should practice with.” 

Tsubaki, already fussing over her Meister, just nodded. 

Maka set her fist in her palm. “I think I get it!” 

Soul gave her a sidelong look. “What now?”

“Well, if what happened is what I think happened, then I know why Black Star's attack didn't work,” she explained. “Because Professor Dante is half demon, his soul works on a very different wavelength than what Black Star usually works with.” 

“Yeah, but he's half human, too,” Soul pointed out. “Shouldn't he have been affected, still?” 

“Not necessarily. In fact, I think that's the reason he wasn't affected at all.”

Kid's eyebrows quirked in thought. “Ah, I see. You think that it didn't work because Black Star had to match his wavelength to what amounted to two different souls, simultaneously.” 

“Something like that, yeah.” The young Meister stroked her chin. “But if that's the case, I have to wonder how he resonates with his Weapons.” 

“Alright, kids,” said Dante. “That was fun for everyone, I'm sure, but we still have a class to finish. Let's see what you can do.” He clapped twice, then gestured at the mats. “No more shenanigans, okay?”

The first lesson resumed, without any further interruptions. Sid stood off to the side, mentally logging everything that Dante had said and done. He'd also taken note of Maka's theories. Lord Death would be very interested in those, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Royal Guard style OP. That is all.
> 
> ... okay no it's not. I like rambling about things too much. 
> 
> This chapter was fun to do. A bit more action than the others, for a start. And, come on, who didn't see this coming? Black Star being a headstrong doofus is ingrained into the very material of Soul Eater, and Dante being a cocky asshole is similarly ingrained into Devil May Cry. Naturally this is why I lifted one or two of his taunts in this fight directly from the games. 
> 
> I can only imagine how things might have gone if Dante had decided to use his actual weapons. Of course, now he (meaning me) needs to figure out how he's going to teach the kids how to fight demons....


End file.
